


A Tree for Sammy

by Jenshih_Blue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 22:13:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenshih_Blue/pseuds/Jenshih_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Making his brother happy was the most important thing to Dean. In a world where very few normal things existed for them, a simple request proves to Dean that not only is keeping a promise important, but being a big brother is the most important job he has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tree for Sammy

**Author's Note:**

> Original Dedication 11-15-07: To my beloved winchestergirl she needed a feel good story. What’s more feel good than Christmas combined with wee!chesters and a side of Bobby? Hope you enjoy, love! :-)

         Dad tried he really did, but Dean knew in his heart there were more important things in this world than Christmas. There were bad things in the world Dad had to hunt, he had to protect the world from the bad things that had stolen their mom away, but now as he stood in the motel lobby seeing that expression on his baby brother’s face he knew this year was different. He had to do something to make Sammy feel like he was a normal kid even if it killed him.

          “Hey, little guy,” the elderly desk clerk caught Sam staring up at the tree as John counted out the money for their room, “you like that?”

          Sammy had never been shy as long as John and Dean were near and this time was no exception. He turned from the tree, pudgy two year-old face filled with a light that shone even in his huge green-flecked hazel eyes, and smiled, dimples punctuating his smile beneath the over-sized hood of his coat. “Yes, sir,” He nodded enthusiastically and then turned to Dean. “Dee, can have one?”

          With a put upon sigh, only a big brother could manage Dean smiled, “Come here, Sammy.”

          Sammy toddled across the faded linoleum, nearly tripping over the huge coat he wore, and looked up at his brother with wide expectant eyes. “Dee, please have one?”

           In that moment Dean’s heart just broke. Even at the ripe old age of six, Dean realized they were living hand to mouth, but he also knew Dad was hunting. Usually that meant Pastor Jim, Caleb, or Uncle Bobby was going to meet him halfway and pick them up. Dad refused to leave them alone when he hunted even though Dean had explained he was a big boy and could take care of Sammy.

           He wrapped his skinny arms around Sammy and pulled him up close, “Maybe, Sammy.” He whispered in his ear.

           Sammy let out a happy little giggle and pressed a sloppy wet kiss on Dean’s cheek, “Yeah, we get tree, Dee.”

           A blush crept into Dean’s cheeks and he rolled his eyes, “I said maybe.” He chastised Sammy as he wiggled from his arms and landed on his padded bottom. Before he could say anything further, Sammy toddled back to where the pine stood and plopped down, watching the tiny toy train circling the base, lights reflecting in his eyes as if they were stars.

           Definitely this year, Dean thought.

 

***

 

            John woke Dean the next morning before the sun rose with a small smile, “Hey, Deano, can you get Sammy up and dressed for your old man.”

            Scrubbing sleep from his eyes, Dean yawned wide, and nodded, “Yes, sir.”

            “Good,” John’s smile widened, “I’m going next door to the café and get us some breakfast. You sure you can handle him?” He reached out, one warm, calloused hand scrubbing Dean’s sleep tousled hair.

            Dean frowned, “Course I can, Dad.”

            “Okay, I’ll only be gone ten or fifteen, sport.”

            Face lighting up, Dean slipped from the bed, and offered John a quick salute, “Yes, sir.” Then he wrapped his arms around John’s waist in a bear hug.

            “Good,” John hugged him back, “now you know the drill?”

            “Don’t open the door to anyone.” Dean nodded as they headed for the door.

            John grabbed his coat and slipped it on, then headed out, the door closing behind him, and the silence of the early morning descending back over the room. Suddenly Dean felt cold and he padded back to where Sammy lay curled in a tight ball beneath the blankets. He had one chubby fist pressed to his mouth and he was sucking his thumb. Dad never liked that, but Dean figured Sammy was a little kid, and sometimes little kids did stuff like that. In his other arm, he had his stuffed bear in a neck lock. Sammy went nowhere without that bear and what bugged Dean the most was the fact he refused to tell Dean the name of the stupid bear. Why he refused to tell Dean was amusing. Dad would have been proud.

_Daddy said names ‘ave power an’ he says not to tell._

 

***

 

            It was Uncle Bobby that came this time for them and that was cool because Dean really liked Uncle Bobby. Sammy though, Sammy loved Uncle Bobby. The moment Bobby stepped into the motel room Sammy, face and hands sticky with syrup from the French toast sticks, saw him. His face lit up and despite Dean’s best attempts, he was across the room in a heartbeat.

            He squealed in delight, “Bee-Bee!”

            Bobby chuckled and squatted down, accepting Sammy’s sticky bear hug, and lifted him up in his strong arms as he stood, “Hey, there, Sammy, what you up to, munchkin?”

            “Dee, gonna get me a pretty tree.” Sammy’s eyes lit up as he babbled happily in Bobby’s ear.

            Pushing his cap back, Bobby glanced to where Dean sat in front of the tiny black and white television, brows drawn together beneath his shaggy, blonde hair. “A tree, huh?”

            “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Dean mumbled beneath his breath, taking a swallow of his chocolate milk.

            Bobby’s eyes narrowed for a split second and then he focused his attention back on Sammy. “Now what kind of tree is Dean gonna get you, munchkin?”

            Giggling happily Sammy’s eyes widened, “Like the one the man has with sparkly lights and there’s a train.”

            Bobby gave John a sidelong glance and John rolled his eyes in the direction of the motel office. “Christmas tree,” he replied in answer to Bobby’s unasked question as he checked his weapons. “He was mesmerized by the damn thing--wasn’t he, Deano?”

            “Yeah,” Dean grumbled, blowing a strand of hair from his eyes

            Nodding thoughtfully, Bobby moved to where Dean was watching television and squatted down as Sammy squirmed from his arms, tiny feet steadying him as he toddled the short distance between to drop down in Dean’s lap. Bobby knew, looking at them, without doubt the bond the boys shared was unbreakable. “So, you boys ready to come spend some time with me and Rumsfeld, my new puppy?

           “Doggie,” Sammy squeaked, “Dee, we go with Bee-Bee!”

           The frown faded from Dean’s face as he looked in Sammy’s wide eyes and he smiled, “Yeah, dude, we’re going to Uncle Bobby’s--right Dad?”

           John glanced up from the shotgun he was cleaning, “Yeah, but I promise I’ll be there for Christmas.”

           Deep down, Dean hoped their dad would be, but even at six, he understood sometimes things came up and promises were broken, “Okay, Dad.”

 

***

 

            It was on the morning of their third day at Bobby’s the first good snow of the winter hit South Dakota. Dean woke with a start and rolled over to check on Sammy. As always he had curled into a tight ball beneath the layers of blankets, and across the room, a fire burned in the hearth. He liked this old house of Bobby’s with its big windows, fireplaces, and faded wallpaper, it felt like a home to him. He slipped from beneath the blankets and dropped to the hardwood floor, sock covered feet skidding along its smoothness. Heading for the window, he crawled up into the chair next to it and rubbed one small hand along the glass, watching as the frost melted beneath the warmth of his skin. Dean’s eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of the outside world and he knew Sammy would want to see it as well.

            The salvage yard, covered in a thick blanket of snow, was a lumpy landscape, the usually spooky shells of cars nothing but white swells of fresh snow. The sky, though lightening with the sunrise, was a patina of gray and huge thick flakes were still falling.

            Dean scrambled from the chair and skidded across the room to climb back on the bed. He leaned in close and shook Sammy whispering in his ear. “Wake up, Sammy.”

            A sniffled whimper escaped the lump of blankets and Sammy’s sleepy voice reached his ears, muffled by the blankets, “No, Dee…I seepin’…”

            Sighing in annoyance, Dean shook Sammy harder, “It’s snowing, Sammy.”

            To wake him up, Dean didn’t need to say anything else. Sammy sat up and scrubbed at his sleep-flushed face with one tiny fist as the other clung to his nameless bear. “Snow?” a loud yawn escaped him as he focused on Dean’s familiar smile.

            “Yeah, dude.” Dean laughed, “It snowed….it’s still snowing. Come on and see, Sammy.” He backed off the bed and held out his arms as Sammy struggled from beneath the blankets to fling himself into Dean’s out stretched arms. Dean released a loud ‘ _oof’_ as he fell on his butt. “Whoa, tiger, snow’s not going anywhere.”

            Moments later Dean was helping his brother up into the chair next to him and scrubbing the frost from the window with the sleeve of his pajamas. Sammy stood between his knees, tiny chin resting on the back of the wooden chair. His eyes were huge as saucers and smile sunlight bright. Dimples deepening in his chubby cheeks, face flushed pink with excitement and hair a tangle of coffee curls he squealed happily, “Snowin’, Dee! Wanna play in snow!” he bounced on his tiny legs struggling to reach out and touch the window as the frost reappeared.

            “Got to ask Uncle Bobby,” Dean’s smile widened as he found himself caught up in Sammy’s enthusiasm.

            Sammy squealed as he squirmed out of Dean’s arms and to the floor, “Bee-Bee!” He toddled across the room, dragging his bear as he headed out the door for Bobby’s room down the hall, squealing and laughing with Dean on his heels, “Bee-Bee! Is snowin’!”

 

***

 

            Dad had always told Dean not to ask Uncle Bobby why he was a hunter, but as he struggled up from where he and Sammy were making snow angels, he caught a glimpse of Bobby’s face as he watched from the porch. He wore a heavy denim coat, gloved hands cradling his forgotten mug of coffee, and Dean could have swore he was on the verge of crying although a bright smile shone through his dark beard. Sometimes Dean thought Uncle Bobby had lost someone just as their family had lost their mom. He shook the snow from his body in an imitation of Rumsfeld, who was running through the snow in a circle barking as he snapped at the falling snowflakes.

           “Boys, come on in now!” Bobby yelled from the porch, “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here!”

           Dean snorted and reached down to pull Sammy to his feet. “Come on, Sammy. Uncle Bobby says it’s too cold to stay.”

           Pushing his lip out in a pout, Sammy sniffled, “No, Dee!” he shrieked as he stomped his foot.

           “Samuel Winchester don’t you give your brother no trouble!” Bobby yelled over his shoulder.

           Sammy whined in displeasure, “Bee-Bee!”

           Bobby glanced at Dean and winked, then turned to Sammy, “There’s hot chocolate but if you don’t want it I’m sure Rumsfeld would like…” he trailed off as he turned to head back in the house whistling for the dog in question.

           Stumbling through the snow, Sammy toddled after Rumsfeld. “No, Bee-Bee!” he yelled as Dean picked him up. “I want coco!”

           Bobby’s laughter rang out as he paused in the door, “You want those marshmallows in that coco, munchkin?”

           “Yes!” Both Sam and Dean yelled as they stumbled up the stairs.

 

***

 

            Much later that night, Sammy sat playing with his bear, Rumsfeld watching from his spot in Bobby’s old recliner as Dean leaned in the kitchen door watching them both. He was glad that Sammy was happy, that’s all he wanted for his baby brother, and that’s why he told him the stories. He told him stories about Mom but only when their Dad wasn’t around. It was only because their Dad didn’t want to talk about their mom and that made Dean want to cry, but big boys didn’t cry.

            Behind him, Dean could hear Uncle Bobby puttering around the kitchen and the smell of spices filled the air. He turned and swallowed back the urge to cry again. Sammy deserved a Christmas tree and Dean was too little, no matter what he told himself, to find one on his own. “Uncle Bobby?”

            Bobby glanced over at Dean as he dumped a jar of tomatoes in the pot. “What’s up, Deano?” His eyebrows drew together at the expression he saw on Dean’s face. “You okay, son?”

            Nodding Dean’s gaze dropped to the floor and he poked his worn boot against the floor. “Yeah, I’m okay, but I was wondering…” his voice trailed off as he swallowed back the tears rising in his throat.

            The light touch of Bobby’s hand on his shoulder caused him to jump and he looked up with tear-filled eyes. “What is it, Dean? You know you can tell me, son.”

            Shoving one hand in his jean pocket, Dean scrubbed the tears from his eyes with the other. Big boys didn’t cry, that was what he kept telling himself, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted Sammy to have a Christmas tree so badly, but he was afraid to tell Uncle Bobby.

            “Dean,” Bobby’s voice softened. “Ain’t nothing wrong with crying, but you got to tell me what’s wrong if we’re going to fix it, son.”

            “Sammy,” Dean started.

            Bobby glanced up, a flicker of fear in his eyes, and then he saw Sammy sitting in the living room having a conversation with his bear. He glanced back at Dean’s bowed head and sighed. “Is this about the Christmas tree?”

            “Yeah,” Dean mumbled and then looked up at Bobby with wide, red-rimmed eyes. “I promised he could have one and I’m too…”

            “Small?” Bobby smiled down at Dean, eyes twinkling.

            Dean nodded and sniffled as he tried to stop the onslaught of tears. “I know I shouldn’t promise things, but he wants one so bad, Uncle Bobby.”

            “You don’t worry about that,” Bobby squatted down so he was looking straight in Dean’s wet eyes. “I think maybe Santa Claus can take care of all that for you.”

            Blinking back tears, Dean smirked at Bobby, “Santa Claus ain’t real, Uncle Bobby.”

            Bobby quirked one brow up and snorted as he stood up, “You so sure about that, Deano, or is that your stubborn daddy talkin’?”

 

***

 

            By the next morning, the snow had stopped falling and the plows had been out all night, clearing the roads the best they could. Bobby insisted they get up and have a hearty breakfast before he loaded them in his tow truck and headed into town. On the way into town, Bobby stopped at a friend’s house, and told them to stay put. Dean watched through the fogged window as Uncle Bobby and the stranger talked on the porch in low voices.

            “What Bee-Bee doin’, Dee?” Sammy demanded as he tried to stand up in the bench seat.

            Dean rolled his eyes, “Hush up, Sammy.”

            “Wanna see!”

            “No, Sammy, this is…”

Before he could finish Sammy had managed to crawl up his back and the squeal he let out nearly deafened Dean, “Santa!

Dean blinked and glanced back out the window getting a good look at Uncle Bobby’s friend. He was a rotund man with snow-white hair and a beard, and he was wearing a red and black checkered fleece jacket. _Well_ , Dean thought, _I know Santa ain’t real, but he could be Santa_.

“Why Bee-Bee talk to Santa?”

Turning, Dean smiled at Sammy’s wide-eyed expression. “Suppose he’s giving Santa directions to his house.”

“Really?” Sammy whispered as he clung to his bear.

“Yup,” he replied with a bright smile.

 

***

 

            They spent the day shopping and then Bobby took them to _Winnie_ _’s_ a café next door to the strip mall. Sammy had insisted that he be shone Winnie, the real Winnie (who happened to be a bear) when a dark-haired woman came out and introduced herself as Winifred aka Winnie. He’d been so insistent that Winifred had told him that Winnie the Pooh was up at the North Pole helping Santa with Christmas. The look of utter disbelief in Sammy’s big hazel eyes had Winifred laughing helplessly.

            “Santa is here,” Sammy explained to Winnie with a serious expression. “Bee-Bee went to see him.”

            Winifred quirked one brow in Bobby’s direction and chuckled, “Is that so, Bobby?”

            Bobby nearly choked on his coffee and glanced at Dean who was chewing his way through a double-cheese burger. “I thought I told you boys to stay put.”

            “We did,” Dean spoke through a mouth full of burger.

            Winnie couldn’t help the laughter that exploded from her at the annoyed look in Bobby’s eyes. “Well, Bobby, hon’ let me make these little guy’s day. Get 'em some treats that is if you don’t mind.”

            “Don’t mind,” Bobby snorted.

            Winnie offered Bobby a smile and shook her head, “That would be the first time you didn’t mind about something. These boys must be softening that tough crust of yours.”

            A tiny frown creased Sammy’s brow beneath the tangle of his curls, “No, crust… Bee-Bee not bread,” That had the entire table laughing which only confused Sammy more.

 

***

 

            Bobby was humming to himself as he mounted the stairs, “So, you boys ready for bed yet?”

            From the bathroom, Dean’s voice drifted, “Almost Uncle Bobby. I’m drying Sammy off right…Sammy!”

            Dean’s shrill shriek had Bobby taking the stairs two at a time and as he reached the top, he saw Sammy, naked as the day he was born, and probably as wet, running down the hall. Right behind him Dean, wearing only his pajama bottoms, came running clutching a towel in his fist. Bobby’s eyes widened as he followed the parade into the boys' room where Dean was on his knees and reaching under the old cast-iron bed.

            “Now I’m going to have to wash you off again,” Dean growled as he tried to reach Sammy who was wriggling further to the other side. “Uncle Bobby’s going to tell Santa you’ve been bad.”

            “No, Dee!” Sam screamed and Bobby wondered how such a tiny thing made such a loud noise. “Bee-Bee, no tell Santa!”

            Bobby had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing as he stepped around the end of bed and saw Sammy’s bare bottom sticking from beneath the bed. He reached down and grabbed his ankles causing Sammy to squeal as he lifted him up in the air. Sammy’s face flushed crimson as he met Bobby’s gaze. “Now what the all fired hell do you think you’re doing, munchkin?” He lifted Sammy higher and swung him up in the air, nearly giving Dean a heart attack (kid really needed to relax) as Sammy flailed wildly and shrieked. Bobby caught him with ease and blasted his naked belly with a Razzberry to beat all Razzberries and then spit out a dust bunny. “Boy we need to get you washed off and no streaking this time--you hear me?”

            “More Bee-Bee! More!” Sammy giggled hysterically.

            Dean met Bobby’s eyes and looked scared for a moment, “I’m sorry, Uncle Bobby.”

            Shaking his head, Bobby flung Sammy over his shoulder and laughed, “No need to be sorry, kid. Ain’t your fault Sammy here is a future Olympic Gold-Medalist in streaking,” He patted the top of Dean’s head. “Now let’s get this little streaker rinsed off and you all can get to bed before Santa gets here.”

            “Santa,” Sammy shrieked happily, “Santa!”

 

***

 

            Dean was having the hardest time getting to sleep and it had nothing to do with Santa. He’d known Santa wasn’t real since he was five. He’d caught Dad eating the Ho-Ho’s they left for Santa last year and drinking the milk not only that he’d seen him go out to the car and bring in the wrapped presents from the trunk of the car. Of course, he’d had his suspicions before then but seeing Dad eat those Ho-Ho’s had been the icing on the cupcake. He’d decided though he’d keep up appearances for Sammy’s sake.

            He forgot about everything when he heard a thud downstairs quickly followed by Uncle Bobby cussing a blue streak. Slipping from beneath the covers, he dropped to the floor and moved out into the darkened hallway. Down below there was rattling and voices that piqued Dean’s curiosity so he headed for the stairs and went down low enough he could peer between the banister railings.

            Uncle Bobby and the man he’d visited a few days before were wrestling with a big cedar tree, snow dripping off its branches. A bright smile lit his face as he bit back giggles. Uncle Bobby was helping him, he knew he would, and all Dean wanted was to run down the stairs and wrap his arms around him in a hug. Of course, he didn’t want Uncle Bobby to know he’d seen where the tree came from.

            “Damn it, Albert,” Bobby’s voice rose a notch. “I’d like to keep my head.”

            “Oh, quit fussing, Robert!”

            Dean smiled as he listened to the two men mumbling and grumping. His heart was about to burst with how much he loved Uncle Bobby. Curling up on the step, he listened as they moved the tree into the living room and as he lay there, he finally found the sleep that had eluded him upstairs.

 

***

 

            “Come on, kiddo.”

            Dean blinked his eyes as Bobby scooped him up into his arms. “Unca’ Bobby…”

            “Hush, now,” Bobby whispered, “Let’s get your butt back to bed before Sammy wakes up and finds you gone.”

            He turned in Bobby’s arms and buried his nose in his chest. “Thanks…Unca’ Bobby,” he mumbled softly.

            “You’re welcome, son.”

 

***

 

            The next morning was worth it. He’d showed weakness to Uncle Bobby and he knew his Dad might be mad about that, but he’d needed help. He’d made a promise to Sammy and his Dad had always said a man should stick by his word because his word was all he had in the end. So, Dean would guess Dad would forgive him for the weakness since it led to him keeping his word to Sammy.

            The tree wasn’t as big as the one at the motel, but it was close, and Uncle Bobby and his friend had wrapped rainbow twinkle lights through the branches. Nothing fancy, but beneath the tree were a few packages wrapped in bright paper and a wooden train with a pull string on it. The look on Sammy’s face was worth the tears he’d shed in front of Bobby.

            “Dee! Dee!” Sammy squealed as he toddled to the tree, “Santa heard you promise.”

            “Yeah, he did,” Dean looked up at Bobby with a brilliant smile.

            Sammy grabbed the string and pulled the train across the floor, the loud clacking catching Rumsfeld’s attention. “Bee-Bee you see?” Sammy asked as he toddled up to Bobby.

            “I sure do munchkin. That’s one pretty tree.”

            “Dee promised and Santa heard. He brought me a tree!” Sammy squealed and wrapped his arms around Bobby’s leg. “He brought me a pretty tree!”

            Dean couldn’t breathe as he moved to where Uncle Bobby was kneeling down to let Sammy press a wet, sloppy kiss on his cheek. As he reached Uncle Bobby, Sammy took off on chubby legs, pulling the train behind him with one hand while he clung to his bear with the other. Rumsfeld was bouncing on his hug paws around Sammy and barking happily at the train. Everything was perfect and Dean couldn’t help doing what he did next. It would be he and Uncle Bobby’s secret.

            Flinging himself at Bobby, he wrapped his arms around his neck, burying his face in his flannel shirt, soft sob escaping him as he mumbled. “Thank you, Uncle Bobby.”

            “You’re welcome, kiddo,” Bobby’s voice deepened as Dean squeezed as hard as his skinny little arms could.

            Behind them, Sammy was staring up at the twinkling lights with an angelic expression on his chubby face. Dean turned and swiped at the tears on his face and for once, he didn’t care that big boys didn’t cry, Sammy was happy, and that was what mattered. He never wanted to forget that moment and he never would.

 

~Finis~


End file.
